


Disillusioned

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers: Armada
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Rebellion, Starscream has a lot to think about.</p><p>Contains violence and mild Cybertronian swearing</p><p>A massive thankyou goes to my wonderful beta , who prevented me from breaking the universe, and who helped me hunt down errant typos and bits that didn’t make sense! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disillusioned

Starscream stood on the rim of a crater, small curls of dust settling slowly around his feet. He’d hoped Demolishor might come out to train, or that lazy glitch Cyclonus, but no one had bothered to follow him.

His internal comms buzzed with static, then a short burst of multi-tonal beeps. Swindle stared up at him, lights flickering. Another few bars of speech-melody; difficult to track, let alone translate, but he made the effort.

“No morale?” Starscream commented. “They really said that?” Swindle nodded. “Well,” he replied. “It’s true.”

Swindle turned to look at the horizon, at the massive, curved bulk of the Earth hanging static over a landscape as bleak and colourless as the pits of Kaon.

The Earth was truly something to see. The glistening blues and lush, deep greens; the stark ochre of deserts and the white of snow-capped mountains, all marbled with an ever-swirling mantle of cloud. Up close, it stank; a filthy organic mess which clung to their paint-work and seeped into their joints. But from here… from here it was beautiful.

“Any idea where Sideways slunk off to?” Starscream asked.

A low-toned beep was the only response. Swindle sat down in a puff of lunar dust and crossed his arms over his knees. He glanced up at Starscream briefly, head cocked slightly to one side.

“Why should I bother?” Starscream uncoupled his wing, watching as the metal folded in on itself, condensing and strengthening until it was no longer a wing, but a weapon. He held it up at the Earth; the red of his optics glinted back at him from its smooth, white surface. “I’ll never be strong enough.”

The cascade of bleeping was immediate and urgent, at odds with Swindle’s relaxed posture. Starscream didn’t catch the words, but the meaning was clear: _not if you don’t train_. He shrugged, as though it was nothing to him, and slid down the side of the crater into a space as large as an arena. As he activated the first hologram, he wondered whether he believed himself. Was he really that weak? Was Swindle wrong to encourage him, despite his obvious deficiencies?

Megatron’s words still echoed through his processor, a recursive pattern that he could neither stop nor cause to be deleted: _You’re giving up? I expected more of you._

An opaque and buzzing Autobot advanced on him. Starscream stabbed and ducked, rolling through rocky debris blasted countless millennia ago by a body that had burned itself up on impact. He rebounded from the rocky floor, slashed a sparkling blue path through holographic armour, and closed in for the killing blow. Up on the edge of the crater, silhouetted against the bulk of the Nemesis, Swindle watched, his face resting on his hands, optics gleaming.

The first fight was always the easiest, warming his systems like the first few moments of flight. The nameless Autobot crumpled to the ground, then flickered out. Three seconds, enough time to run a systems report, then two more Autobots appeared on the crest of the far ridge.

Starscream approached them, attentive as any predator, but his thoughts kept returning to Megatron. Their leader wasn’t what he used to be. He’d lost his edge, his direction. He should never have suffered a challenge to his dominance, let alone let Starscream live afterwards. Something was wrong with him, but Starscream couldn’t work out what it was.

As his blade slashed through holographic armour, carving a path to a spark that wasn’t really there, Starscream realised that he knew the names of the Autobots whose images he fought. Hot Shot and Smokescreen; the irritating red and yellow ‘bot with the comical round helm, and the bulky, competent veteran. Neither of them was quite right, the holograms were more graceful than the real things, and quiet where the Autobots would chatter incessantly. But they were good enough to train with, and it was satisfying to lay them out on the gritty, cold dust of the crater floor.

Swindle chirruped his approval across their comm. link, but Starscream didn’t pause to respond. On the opposite side of the crater, ten million points of light combined to form the image of Optimus Prime, running straight at him.

Crouching, Starscream waited for just the right moment. This hologram was better than the others, programmed by Megatron for his own training and updated regularly. It was a closer facsimile, learning from his movements, aware of him as he remained still and poised. And it would transform, like the real Optimus, without warning, combining with that pathetic mindless minicon into a form which could, even though composed only of light, crush him utterly.

But unlike the real Optimus, it wasn't self-sacrificing. Unlike the real Optimus, it wouldn't place itself in danger to protect its comrades, bots whose facsimiles were manifesting even now on the far side of the crater. Unlike the real Optimus, it would never cower, shivering and broken, unwilling to act in its own defence while Megatron gloated and failed to make the final move to finish the Autobots once and for all.

The Optimus hologram swerved, gun blazing. Starscream spun away, catching it a glancing blow on the arm as he passed. The others closed in, eerily silent. They were fast, but nowhere near fast enough, even here in the low gravity and thin air. Starscream fought, vision a blurr of shifting light and colour. No danger of overheating in the chill of the lunar ; it was safe to push himself, to test the limits of his strength and speed as he should have tested them against Megatron.

A laser pulse caught the exposed stub of his left wing. The hard light stung, and stole the momentum from his thrust. He recovered, using feet and fists to clear enough space to swing his blade, shearing a path through the holo-soldiers wide enough to see the glittering sky on the other side.

The earth had turned by the time he stopped, revealing new landmasses and a stretch of glossy clear ocean. Around him, a field of holographic corpses faded away one by one.

Swindle slid down the crater on his aft, kicking up a plume of grey dust. He ran over to Starscream's feet, glancing around at the dying holograms.

Starscream reconnected his wing. Where his fingers caught the delicate sensors, the pressure made him wish there was an atmosphere on this desolate chunk of rock. The Earth gleamed, a tempting soup of air, a glory of friction and currents and the wonderful freedom of the jet stream.

Swindle bleeped a query, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the gleaming planet. Starscream shook his head. "We're confined to base," he said. "Until further notice."

Swindle's response was loud and obnoxious. Starscream cut the volume on his receiver and lifted Swindle onto his shoulder. "We’ll be out soon enough," he said. Turning back towards the Nemesis, his paintwork scuffed and a dent in his thigh the size of Optimus's fist, Starscream noticed a glimmer of movement, iron grey against the darker bulk of the ship.

He tried to ignore it, but his optics focused regardless, magnifying the streak of light until he could make out other colours, red and purple, and finally a self-satisfied smirk and narrowed eyes blazing straight at him from a jagged hole in the hull.

"Why couldn't you have fought me like that?" Megatron's voice was little more than a hiss on a narrow, private channel.

"I fought you as well as I could, sir," Starscream replied. Swindle leaned against the side of his neck, oblivious.

"Like slag you did. Anyone would think you didn't want to be supreme commander of the Decepticons."

 _When have I ever said that's what I wanted?_ Starscream kept the thought to himself, and tried to calm the subtle vibrations of his engines so that they didn't disturb Swindle. Slag Sideways and his twisted words. All Starscream had wanted was his minicons back; Runway, Jetstorm and Sonar were his by right of conquest. Megatron could keep everything else.

"Giving me the silent treatment now, I see. I suppose I should never have expected better from you.”

 _Better than what? Unswerving loyalty, an eternity of obedience… Ungrateful glitch._ “Is there anything you need me to do, sir?” Starscream asked. His wing twitched, the couplings aching to unfurl, to provide him with a weapon.

“Is there anything I need you to do? _You?_ ” Megatron's smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped frown. “You’re a disgrace. Go clean yourself up.”

Starscream focused on the ground, watching his step on a litter of metal shards and broken parts. “Yes, sir,” he said. Megatron didn’t reply, but the comm. link remained open, a grating hiss of white noise.

As he climbed the slope to the hull, Starscream glanced back at the slowly spinning Earth. He had the urge to wake Swindle, to combine and transform, and speed through the cold gulf of space into that harsh and glorious atmosphere.

But Megatron was still listening. Waiting, perhaps, for an excuse to impose a harsher punishment than grounding.

After a while, Starscream turned back towards the Nemesis. "Energy bath?" he suggested, giving Swindle a gentle nudge. He made no attempt to hide the communication; he was, after all, obeying orders. Swindle nodded, sounding a lazy pattern of beeps that seemed to be his equivalent of a yawn.

A snarl carried along the narrow channel from Megatron to Starscream. Then the connection was severed, and the walls vibrated with the echo of an impact several floors above.

"What the slag was that all about?" Cyclonus yelled, using an open frequency with typical thoughtlessness.

"Abandon ship!" Demolishor responded, transmitting across a far narrower band. "Something's crawled up Megsy's tailpipe, and it ain’t pretty. Sideways can deal with him, I'm outta here."

Swindle raised his small hands, a gesture of confusion.

"I have no idea," Starscream replied. Swindle gave him a look. It was hard to read, considering the minicon’s battle mask, but somehow Swindle managed to convey an air of scepticism.

“What?” Starscream said. “Stop that.”

Swindle shrugged, and when he next spoke he did so slowly, enunciating each word at a speed Starscream could easily distinguish and comprehend. “He’s disappointed,” Swindle said. “He wants you to rebel. Why don’t you give him what he wants?”

 _Because that would be suicidal?_ , Starscream thought, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Megatron hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, when Starscream had expected it, had invited it. Megatron had become despotic, inconsistent. He’d forgotten his responsibilities. Perhaps it was time he was reminded.

Swindle waited, leaning against Starscream’s cheek, humming an encouraging little tune.

“Slag this,” Starscream said. “Let’s go flying.”


End file.
